A/N: Here's this month's chapter, a little early. I've been writing all day so I'm not sure it makes perfect sense. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for your reviews on the last chapter!

Chapter Twenty-five: Unwitting Betrayal

After only a few months, I feared the strong friendship I shared with Oenone was ending. Quite abruptly, she stopped visiting me. At first I believed she only wanted to spend more time with her husband, but Hector soon informed me that Paris had been attending every counsel Priam held. When I visited her manor, a maid told me that she would not see visitors. It pained me to see Hecuba and Laodice enter her home the very next day. With no explanation, she had removed herself from my life, leaving a gaping hole in her absence.

In Thebe, I had no close friendships such as this one, and in Troy no one had broken our bonds. I did not know what to think of the situation. "It's as if she has disappeared," I complained to Hector. We were in a green pasture just outside of the city walls, where dozens of horses grazed. My husband was training a young stallion to pull a chariot by pairing him with an older mare. Already, the pair had managed to flip the battered training chariot. Hector blamed a small rock for the incident.

"And she gave you no explanation?" Hector asked, examining a wheel.

"No. One day we were planning to visit Apollo's temple, and the next she vanished."

"She hasn't vanished," he reasoned. "Paris would have made a fuss if she had."

I gave him an odd look, but he did not turn his eyes from his task to see it. "She has not allowed me to see her," I reminded him. "And she hasn't attended any meals in your father's hall for over a week. Paris comes alone, or not at all."

At last he turned his attention from the wheel with a thoughtful expression. "True enough," he admitted, stepping onto the unstable chariot. With a tug of the long reins, the mare picked up a slow pace, and the stallion reluctantly did the same.

A young horse energetically nosed my waist. I swallowed a shriek and darted away. "She allowed your mother and Laodice to visit, but won't see me," I called as the distance between Hector and I grew. "I do not remember saying anything that might offend her."

The wheels of the chariot creaked loudly as they rolled out of a small indentation in the field. The sound must have frightened the stallion, for he galloped forward, leaving the mare no choice but to increase her pace. "Why don't you ask Paris?" Hector shouted, pulling the reins and leaning back. He could not reach out to steady himself, but miraculously managed to remain standing, at least until the horses changed direction. Then the chariot tilted dangerously, and he spilled onto the grass, rolling a few times. Picking up my cumbersome skirt, I ran to him.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, and he shook his head, propping himself up on his hands. With his legs stretched out in front of him, he forcefully expelled a breath, watching his beloved horses disappear into the distance.

"It wasn't a rock this time," he admitted.

"Perhaps it was an error of the charioteer?" My suggestion earned a scowl. I extracted a few blades of grass from his hair before he stood up.

"Clearly, the beast was frustrated with the drama of women," he countered stubbornly, pressing a kiss to my brow. He set off at a sprint in the direction of the runaways, leaving me laughing.

Oenone was again absent at the evening meal, but Paris was not. I waited impatiently until nearly everyone had retired to confront him. During a break in the easy conversation between he and Hector, I cut in. "I have not seen your wife in over a week, Paris," I blurted out.

His hands were busy, twirling his empty gold goblet. "She is ill," he said, and I was surprised at his lack of concern. I leaned forward to question him more thoroughly, but Hector placed his hand on my arm. He must have sensed a deeper reason for his brother's distraction. After a few more spins of the goblet, Paris spoke.

"Do you believe in the power of dreams?" he asked, still staring at the gleaming gold.

I was too confused to respond. In the time I had known Paris, he did not strike me as the type of man to concern himself with dreams and omens. Hector did not hesitate, though. "Dreams are messages from the gods," he said.

"I know that," Paris said, his voice unsteady. "But I did not think the gods themselves would visit people in their dreams."

I thought of Aphrodite summoning me to her garden as I slept, almost a year before. The power of that dream awes me, even to this day. "It is not unheard of," I remarked.

The goblet spun faster now, rocking wildly. "Do you think a decision you made in a dream might affect your life somehow?" Hector reached out to steady the goblet, causing Paris to look up. His expression was one of fear and uncertainty. "Is that possible?" he asked.

"Tell us of this dream, brother," Hector ordered, both affectionate and stern.

Paris' eyes returned to the table. "I dreamt I was in the mountains again, tending my bulls," he began shakily. "I was resting under a tree when Hermes of the Winged Sandals descended. He told me Zeus had sent him. The father of all gods wanted me to settle a dispute between three goddesses."

Already his story seemed absurd. I wondered if perhaps his dream held no significance, but immediately felt blasphemous thinking so.

"Why did he want you to judge?" Hector asked, his brow furrowed in concentration. I admired his desire to understand. Cassandra and Helenus were skilled in interpreting dreams, not he.

"I judge a bull contest between fellow herdsmen," Paris replied. "I think that was his reason. I did not wish to offend the god, so I agreed. An instant later, Lady Aphrodite, Pallas Athena, and Queen Hera descended from the clouds to stand before me, and I had to judge them."

"What did you judge them on?" Hector interrupted.

Paris looked truly uncomfortable. "Beauty." At our raised brows, he hurried to clarify. "Lord Zeus held a banquet, and Eris, Goddess of Discord, was not invited. According to Hermes, she created a golden apple inscribed with the words 'To the Fairest,' and threw it down amidst the festivities. The goddesses were fighting over it, and I was expected to choose the most beautiful of the three."

I could not think of a more ridiculous dream. How much wine, exactly, had Paris had before retiring?

"Go on," Hector encouraged him.

"It was not a fair contest. As soon as their feet touched the ground, they began making me offers. Each tried to bribe me—and I'll admit, they were splendid bribes. Hera offered to make me a powerful king, while Athena promised if I chose her, I would win every battle I fought. And Aphrodite offered me the most beautiful woman in the world." Paris looked at Hector, somewhat pleadingly. "I tried to ignore their bribes. I am truly happy to be a prince of Troy, and I know I do not need what they offered."

Hector only nodded, but I suspected he was fantasizing about Athena's offer. It certainly would have benefited Troy in the years to follow.

"So I tried to judge the goddesses strictly on their beauty, which was a difficult task. After all, they were each a hundred times lovelier than any mortal woman." Glancing at me, his face flushed a deep red. "I apologize," he said hastily, speaking to Hector as well as me. "I meant no insult--"

"I take no offense," I assured him. After seeing Aphrodite, I knew it was the truth.

"But it was Aphrodite who truly deserved the prize. All the statues built in her honor do not do her justice." His eyes no longer focused on his audience. "Her hair is brighter than the sun when it reflects off of the ocean in the evenings. Her eyes are the color of Aeneas', but deeper, and they seem to glitter. And her smile… I cannot even explain it. It was like a beacon of joy, but there was something dangerous about it." He shrugged apologetically. "A bard could tell it better. The sight was wasted on me."

Perhaps a bard could tell it better, but not so truthfully. Paris' description was startlingly close to the way I recalled Aphrodite's beautiful face. Could his dream have some significance?

"You chose her," I stated.

Paris nodded. "The apple was rightfully hers."

"The other goddesses must have been furious," Hector said somberly.

"They left quickly. I was left with Aphrodite, who taunted me with her bribe."

"There was nothing else?" I asked.

He would not meet my eyes. "No. She left, as well, and I awoke soon after."

Hector crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Perhaps you should speak to Helenus about this," he suggested. "But I am not certain it has a true meaning. After all, you were still a herdsman in your dream. And you are already married."

Paris appeared to consider this, but his eyes were still distant and unfocused. "I am already married," he echoed. He spoke no more of the dream, and soon it disappeared from my mind as well. We would not learn of its significance for many months to come.

The next morning I marched to Oenone's manor, feeling guilt behind my determination. Hector had advised me not to visit her, in case her illness would spread to me. Obviously, I was not eager to catch some disease, but since Hecuba and Laodice had been to see her and were well, I believed I would be unhurt. And I did emerge from that manor unharmed; physically, at least.

Despite the maid's protests, I slipped past her and hurried to the bedchamber. I hesitated at the closed door and thought of announcing my presence. But why give her an opportunity to turn me away? Taking a deep breath, I shoved open the thick door and found my friend.

She did look ill. Her skin was flushed, and her hair hung in damp tendrils around her face. An elderly maid was with her, wiping at her mouth with a cloth. There was a heavy odor in the air, and when I moved closer, I realized the stench came from the vomit in a bowl the maid held.

"Andromache!" Oenone cried miserably. "You were not supposed to visit."

"You were not supposed to disappear," I retorted, but my words lacked the frustration and hurt I had been feeling. "I did not realize you were ill until last night."

"Leave us," she ordered the maid. She took a few breaths, more to steady her stomach than her mind, I think. "I did not want you to know of my illness."

"It is nothing to be ashamed of," I assured her, reaching to smooth her damp hair from her brow. I wanted to confront her, but only felt sympathy. "I wish you had told me. I was worried."

"I did not want you to know," she repeated, anguish clear in her voice.

Though I was quickly becoming even more confused, I reached for her hands. Miraculously, a sense of friendship felt perfectly natural, even in a time like that. "You allowed Hecuba and Laodice to visit you, but not me," I pointed out. "You are my closest friend, Oenone. I do not know what to think."

Quite suddenly, she burst into tears. "I did not mean to hurt you!" she wailed. "But I have hurt you and it—it isn't my fault--"

I moved to put my arms around her. "Hush," I soothed, glad that my voice did not betray how frantic I felt. "You haven't hurt me. I was only confused. You are ill, sister. Hush."

But she continued to sob, her lithe frame trembling wildly. "I know it is what you want—now I have an excuse for weaving, but not you—and I wish the gods had blessed you too!"

"Oenone," I said, attempting Hector's tone of affectionate authority. "You have not hurt me, or our friendship. Your illness has confused you. You'll regain your health soon."

"No!" she shouted, pulling free from my arms. "This is no ordinary disease, Andromache! It is the illness I spoke of—the weaving illness!"

A sharp dread filled my stomach. I knew precisely of what she spoke, but I would not allow myself to think it. "The weaving illness?" I repeated coolly.

Her tears started afresh. She frantically reached toward the floor. Too late I realized she was searching for the bowl that her maid had taken. She vomited all over the stone floor. Instinct made my hand shoot forward to rub her shoulders and hold her hair away from her face, but cruelty held me back. My hand hovered in the air, useless and awkward.

"The weaving illness," I said again. She wiped her mouth and sat up, genuine sorrow in her teary eyes.

"I am with child," she affirmed, and my own eyes welled with tears.

Any true friend would have been happy for her. I felt like vomiting myself. A significant part of our friendship was built on the fact that neither of us had children. I know it was a foolish idea, but I expected us to raise our children together. I expected us to receive the gods' blessing around the same time, only I would be first. Hector and I had been wed for over a year; Paris and Oenone, only a few months. I knew, even at the time, that I was being petty and childish, but all I could think of was how unfair the situation was.

"You're the first person I've told," she said, still weeping. "Not even Paris knows. Hecuba suspects, of course, but I would not admit it to her. I did not want to tell you, Andromache."

"Did you plan to avoid me until your babe was born?" I asked dryly. I wished I could infuse some happiness into my voice.

"I don't know," she sobbed. "I don't know. I feel as if I've betrayed you."

Hearing her say it snapped me to awareness. I was still being petty, and I was still hurt, but she was my closest friend. She did not purposely hurt me. With false cheer, I took her clammy hand. "Don't be silly," I chirped. Somehow, I still sounded mournful. "You'll be a mother, Oenone!"

Surely she heard how fake my words were, but she ignored it. I think she wanted to preserve our friendship. "And you'll be an aunt," she croaked out, embracing me again.

I chattered on about what a fine child she would have, barely paying attention to my own words. I was completely numb. I chided myself for having such a negative reaction, but still could not summon up any true happiness for my friend. Perhaps if I had known what was to come, I would have tried harder and forced myself to be cheerful.

Poor Oenone would have to deal with an even worse reaction from the one person who mattered most to her.

Thanks for reading! More to come. Please review and tell me what you think.